Victor had been so frantic that he trampled over my hand as he rushed to his knees before Abigail, carefully wiping away her tears.
"Abby, what's wrong? It pains me to see you cry."
Abigail’s eyes were red and puffy. She curled her shoulders inward, looking as fragile as a frightened fawn.
"Brother, don’t blame Faith. This isn’t her fault."
Victor shot a glance at me, crumpled on the floor. His fury simmered beneath the surface, but his voice remained gentle as he coaxed her.
"Alright, I won’t blame her. Just tell me what happened."
Abigail let out a breath, as if relieved. "I came to comfort her, but she said it wasn’t fair that she had been humiliated alone. She called over some obsessed fan of hers to force a kiss on me… to defile me… even threatened to take nude photos of me."
Victor didn’t see my torn clothes, nor the blood dripping steadily from my forehead, nor the fingers he had just crushed underfoot. All he saw was the faintest red mark on Abigail’s chest—so light it was nearly invisible.